


Hummel Rising

by prosopopeya



Category: Glee, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-21
Updated: 2012-05-21
Packaged: 2017-11-05 18:57:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/409900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prosopopeya/pseuds/prosopopeya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story we know and love of the first time Dean meets Castiel. Starring Kurt Hummel as Dean Winchester and Blaine Anderson as Castiel. Also featuring in a minor role, Burt Hummel as Bobby Singer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hummel Rising

**Author's Note:**

  * For [msmoocow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/msmoocow/gifts).



The old barn smells like must, and dirt, and spray paint; it took him and Burt working together hours to cover the barn in these sigils, to get the ritual exactly right, and it feels like hours since they finally sat down to wait it out. Kurt’s about to open his mouth to ask again if Burt’s sure the ritual was right when the roof starts to shake, and dust flies into the air, and Kurt’s definitely going to need a shower later. The fact that he doesn’t care is a testament to just how anxious and scared and worried and _excited_ and _curious_ he is to meet Blaine. 

The demon who pulled him out of Hell. 

The demon who pulled him away from -- well. He can’t think about what he did in Hell. Not right now, not if he wants to look his father in the eye while they take out this demon together, and he does; otherwise that would be pretty dangerous.

He adjusts his grip on the gun in his hand, just in time for all the lights to start bursting one by one; the glass falls around them, in his hair, and he shakes his head to get it out.

“There goes our lighting,” he calls to Burt over the noise of the tin walls shaking violently. “And I’d gotten it just right, too.”

There are sparks in the air when the door opens, and Kurt’s eyes travel from the ground up to Blaine’s. He’s... smaller than he’d expected. And his bow tie is crooked, and that sweater vest is a little cheap looking, and his hair is bushy and curly and wild. Appropriate, since it feels like he sucks all the ozone out of the room as he walks inside.

Kurt wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but he’s mesmerized at first. The guy knows how to make a dramatic entrance; there are still sparks falling on him, lights popping somewhere despite the fact there are no more lightbulbs in the room to burst, and even though the official reason is that he waits to fire when he can tell that Blaine isn’t fazed by the sigils on the floor, he knows the real one is that he’s just distracted by the wildness of him.

Burt opens fire first, but only by a second.

But apparently that doesn’t matter. Blaine doesn’t even _blink_ even after an entire round of bullets, and Kurt exchanges a glance with Burt before they go for their other weapons. Kurt’s hand closes around the demon knife, and he holds his breath, even if he should be monitoring his breathing. The sheer power that rolls off this demon -- even in _that sweater vest_ , oh god, and it’s a polyester blend, he can tell from here -- is enough to make Kurt dizzy. He’s never met a demon like this.

“Who are you?” he asks, and he’s pleased to find he even has a voice.

“I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from Perdition.” 

Blaine’s voice -- calm and serene and smooth -- isn’t what he was expecting, so just throw that in with the rest of everything about Blaine, but he doesn’t let that stop him. 

“That was sweet of you.” Kurt gives him his best I-don’t-mean-this smile, and Blaine just beams back at him, which makes Kurt feel a tiny bit bad about stepping forward and plunging the demon knife into Blaine’s chest. 

Nothing happens. Except that Kurt almost pees his pants.

Kurt backs away slowly, and Blaine’s eyes never leave Kurt’s face; he reaches up and pulls out the demon knife like it didn’t even tickle. Burt lunges forward, but Blaine’s arm shoots out and blocks the tire iron headed for his head; he turns around and presses two fingers to Burt’s head, and Burt slumps to the floor. Kurt’s heart jumps into his throat and time stops until he can see that Burt’s chest is still moving, and when he looks up, Blaine’s already turned back around and focused on him.

“We need to talk, Kurt.” He pauses and takes a breath, and Kurt leans forward fractionally, waiting for him to finish his sentence. “Alone.”

Kurt needs about two seconds -- well, no, actually, he needs more than that, but he _has_ two seconds to get his thoughts in order, and he backs away from Blaine to kneel at his father’s side.

“Let’s start with what you did to my dad,” he says, forcing it out, and he curses how his voice wavers as he reaches out to check Burt’s pulse.

“Your father’s alive.” Blaine stops rifling through Burt’s journal and smiles at him; he folds his hands over his lap and links his fingers together. “Don’t worry. He’ll come around in a little while.”

“Who are you?” Kurt sputters from the floor. “Spock?”

Blaine frowns and looks off to the side, as if trying to backtrack through everything Kurt’s had a chance to learn about Blaine, looking for any signs of Vulcan interference.

“No... I’m Blaine,” he finally answers slowly, like speaking to a child.

Kurt rolls his eyes and pushes himself to his feet; he’s nervous as hell and scared since Blaine just took out his father with two fingers, and that’s not normally a sight that fills a person up with confidence, but he reminds himself that hunting is at least 40% performance. He can perform the hell out of this -- and he will.

“No kidding, Sparks McGee. So, since you’re not a Vulcan, and you’re obviously not a demon, what are you? Besides someone with a flair for dramatic entrances.”

Blaine smiles at that not-really-a-compliment and nods like he thinks it _is_ a compliment, and then he pushes himself off the table to stand up straight and tall, like his mother probably told him to, if he ever _had_ a mother.

“I’m an angel of the Lord.”

And if _Kurt’s_ mother were still around, she would probably tell him to close his mouth or he’ll catch flies.

“An angel,” he repeats slowly, and Blaine nods, pleased Kurt is keeping up. “Of the Lord,” Kurt adds, just in case there’s more meaning at the end of the sentence he missed the first time, but Blaine’s eyebrows (oh god, they’re _triangles_ ) knit together and he nods again, a little more confused.

“Riiight,” Kurt drawls, and he gives Blaine The Look. “And I’m Roma Downey, I just got a little lost on the way to my next assignment.”

Blaine dips his head and comes up frowning, but somehow smiling at the same time; Kurt thinks it has to be a trick with his eyes, which somehow manage to be _electric brown_. How is that even a thing?

“C’mon, Kurt.” Blaine pauses, and those eyes go from sympathetic and a little amused to something far more powerful, far more admonishing. “Have a little faith.”

Kurt’s snappy rejoinder about saving him the Bible lesson is cut short by a clap of thunder, and then two shadows crawl across the back wall, but they aren’t really shadows; they’re flat, but they reach out to Kurt at the same time. They’re wings, big and black and extremely creepy with their thunderous appearance, and they change Blaine’s entire posture. As they retreat back into his back, his shoulders round out again, and his smile returns, as soft as ever.

“Okay... So you’re an angel. Funny, I missed the part about how you guys burn out peoples’ eyes. How does that song go? This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it incinerate?”

Blaine’s face falls, and he shakes his head as he steps closer to Kurt; Kurt expects the urge to step backward, but it doesn’t exactly come, at least not right away.

“I tried to tell her not to look; I’m really sorry about that.” 

His eyes are imploring, and Kurt is wary, on guard, because he isn’t wary enough if he doesn’t focus on forcing it.

“It’s my true form,” Blaine continues, coming to a stop a few steps away from Kurt. “It’s kind of... intense for humans. Just like my voice, which,” Blaine laughs and ducks his head, and he comes up smiling, “you already know.”

“That was your _voice_ that busted out the windows?”

Blaine gives a sheepish, secretly pleased nod. Kurt, meanwhile, has no frame of reference for this. Until today he’d been convinced God didn’t exist at all, and he hadn’t had a lot of convincing truth to the contrary. Now here’s an angel without socks telling him that it isn’t all harps and harmonies in the sky. He shakes his head, his mouth falling open.

“You could really use some voice lessons,” is what he comes back with.

Blaine chuckles, and that sound is definitely warm, and he takes a small step closer as he leans in.

“I sound better in Heaven, trust me.” He straightens back up and sets his arms at his sides, apparently back to business. “That was my fault anyway. Some people can handle my true form. I thought…” He trails off and his eyes sweep up and down Kurt before settling on his eyes again. “I thought you were one of them. Guess not.” He shrugs, the gesture small and apologetic.

Kurt shakes his head and closes his eyes briefly, and he wills himself to get a grasp on the situation, on _himself_ , but it has been a long day; he _was_ just dragged out of the Pit, and he did just have a long forty years…

_Focus, Kurt._

“What form are you using now?” he asks, and he readjusts his weight on his feet, seeking a fighting stance. “Afro Peewee?”

“Oh.” Blaine looks down at himself, and he reaches up to adjust the bow tie. “This is a vessel.” His tone implies ‘neat, huh?’ but Kurt does not find that neat, not in the slightest, and he’s fully shaken out of whatever dazzled state he might’ve found himself in.

“A _vessel_? You’re _possessing_ someone?”

“He volunteered,” Blaine assures him immediately, and he holds out a hand to Kurt. “He’s been praying for this for a long time.”

Kurt closes his eyes and shakes his head again for the briefest of seconds, but he doesn’t actually manage to shake all his thoughts into place. What he does know is that none of this makes sense -- none of this _can_ make sense because if God exists, if angels exist, then nothing in his _life_ makes sense. Not his mom, not Finn’s dad, and definitely not Finn being part of Schue’s special team, and not Kurt in Hell learning... _learning_ from Coach Sylvester.

“Sorry, despite clawing my way out of the ground recently, I wasn’t _actually_ born yesterday, so why don’t you try again?” Kurt asks through clenched teeth.

Frowning, Blaine steps closer, into Kurt’s space bubble, and Kurt forces himself to stay still as Blaine looks up into his eyes. He can actually almost physically feel the way Blaine’s eyes push at him and force him to look. As if he could look anywhere else.

“Good things do happen, Kurt,” Blaine says, so sweet and so genuine that Kurt can almost believe him for a minute. He shakes his head, but his eyes don’t break their contact with Blaine’s.

“Not in my experience,” he mostly whispers, and not entirely on purpose.

“What’s the matter?” His tone is gentle and hushed, but when Blaine takes another step closer, Kurt straightens and draws in on himself, tensing and preparing for a blow, but it’s Blaine’s tenderness that knocks him breathless and not an attack. Blaine peers up into his eyes, and Kurt draws in a breath; no one’s ever looked so _deeply_ into him in all his life.

Blaine’s eyes widen fractionally, and his mouth drops open.

“You don’t think you deserve to be saved?” he whispers, and the pain and sympathy in his voice is almost too much for Kurt.

“Why’d you do it?” His voice breaks, and he hates himself for it; Blaine presses his mouth together in a kind smile, and his hands fall to his sides. Kurt can see him fighting the urge to reach out and touch Kurt, and he knows that’s a direct result of Kurt looking ready to lash out like a wounded animal attacking even a helping hand.

Blaine straightens up again, squaring his shoulders, and he gives the small nod that Kurt recognizes as his sticking-to-the-script stance.

“Because God commanded it.” His shoulders slacken here though, and his smile softens, becomes encouraging. “Because we have work for you.”


End file.
